


Everything I Love gets Lost in Drawers

by blueabsinthe



Series: Hide the Night [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, New York Rangers, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueabsinthe/pseuds/blueabsinthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hurts wanting everything and nothing at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything I Love gets Lost in Drawers

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** public sex, dirty talk
> 
> Title is lyrics from the song _Slow Show_ by The National.

His shoulders were sore, his legs felt like rubber, but he was … content. The game against Philly was a hard fought one, and he was looking forward to playing the Devils again. Practice went well. Long, tiring, but he had no complaints. 

He fumbled around for his keys, before he located them and unlocked his trunk. Henrik gets his equipment bag in, and after closing his trunk, he turns when he hears footsteps echoing in the garage. 

Brad walks towards him, bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp from the showers, his shoes slightly scuffed. Henrik is surprised at the reaction he has just seeing Brad. It's like a gut shot. Brad and him hadn't talked ever since the night in Buffalo, and seeing him just now causes images of that night to rush back to him. 

The curl of Brad's hand around his cock, the way Brad had been oh, so gentle when he spread him open, the way Brad had curled his body against his before they dozed off. Henrik's fingers tingle when he remembers how their fingers were intertwined, and just how … _natural_ it felt. Like they had been on a crash course towards each other to begin with. 

Hank leans on the trunk of his car, his arms crossed against his chest, watching Brad as his steps slow until he is standing in front of him. His cheeks are slightly rosy, his lips slightly parted. The air is stuffy in the garage. Brad has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, a bead of sweat starting to form at his hairline, and in the hollow of his neck. 

Brad's eyes travel from Hank's head to his toes before he looks Hank in the eyes. He steps closer, and takes Henrik's face in his hand, before pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Hank's mouth. Brad's slightly calloused thumb running over Hank's jaw, before swiping across Hank's collarbone, and pressing into the hollow at the base of Hank's throat. 

"This little hollow at the base of our throat," Brad whispers, lips close enough to Henrik's, "do y'know what it's called?"

Hank swallows around the lump in his throat. And … oh, he remembers being in a similar situation with Brad a few weeks ago. Except that time, he was the one calling the shots. The one who made the initial invite. A comforting hand, a night to just _forget_. Forget about the baggage Brad had … _has_ with Vince. Hank wondered if he wanted to get tied up in all that then. He still wonders that now. 

Hank feels as Brad smiles against his lips, his fingers carding through his hair. He stifles the little bubble of laughter lodged in his throat as Brad's hands tickle the fine hairs at the base of his neck. Brad deepens the kiss, sliding a hand over Hank's chest, before they slip underneath the cotton to rest against his taut stomach.

"The suprasternal notch," Brad whispers, palm still resting on Hank's stomach.

"Hm?"

"That hollow at the base of our throats," Brad says. "It's called the suprasternal notch." Brad has his hand on Hank's belt buckle, before he unbuckles it, and tugs down the zip. He curls a warm, yet dry hand around his cock. 

"Brad, this is -"

Brad places the index finger from his free hand on Hank's lips, silencing him. "What do you say we finish this?" He slides his hand down Hank's cock, before he nips at Henrik's bottom lip. "Your place or mine?"

"What did Vince's text say this time?" Hank curls his fingers around the cool metal of his car in an effort to not have his legs give out on him. 

"What makes you so sure I got a text from him?"

"It's how this whole thing got started to begin with." Hank catches Brad's wrist in his hand. "How it _always_ starts."

Brad blinks, but casts him a knowing look. "I … it didn't bother you the first night. Or the afternoon after I missed practice before the Boston game. Remember?"

"I don't … _fuck_ -" Hank gaps as Brad continues stroking his cock. "I don't want to …"

"Do you remember? Come on, Hank, I know you do."

"Brad, _stop_."

"I made you come twice that afternoon. The first time your cock was in my mouth. I couldn't get the taste of you out of my mouth for hours afterwards. The second time … we came together, I was on my back, while you fucked me. I begged you to touch me, told you to fuck me harder, and all the while, your eyes never left mi -"

"What did his text say?" Hank chokes out.

"Come on, Hank. This is all in fun."

Hank is lightheaded. "Do you even want this at all? Do you even want me? Or am I just a substitute for Vince? A good midnight fuck when the mood strikes you, or the texts don't say what you want them to say?"

Brad goes very still then. "I'm not sure what this" - he gestures to the space between them - "is. All I know is I can't get you out of my mind. I can't get over the way your hands made me feel. How they made me come." He kisses Hank's cheek. "Please, Hank. Just … I feel _alive_ with you."

Hank runs a hand through Brad's hair, before it tightens in his hair, and he drags Brad's head towards his, crushing their mouths together, the kiss full of need. Before he can fully process how dark, and twisted this whole situation is, he has his hand inside Brad's pants, running his dry hand over Brad's cock. Brad is a quivering mess in his arms shortly after, leaning his head on Hank's shoulder, as Hank's finger dips into the slit at the head of Brad's cock, the pre-come coating his finger.

"Please," Brad whispers against the shell of Hank's ear. "Hank. _Please_."

Hank knows he should stop this. He's dizzy with the smell of the generic soap they use in the showers invading his nose. The subtle smell of Brad's cologne. Brad's hot breath tickling his ear just adds to the lightheadedness. God, this was just …

"Oh, come on, Cally! I was not off during that last drill!"

Hank hears as the door to the garage clicks shut, and he hears two sets of footsteps. He shoves Brad off him, and he stumbles slightly before he rights himself, straightening his shirt, and running a hand through his now dishevelled hair. 

Brad does the same, and curses when he realizes he's still hard. Hank bites his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing. 

"You totally were!" 

Hank hears Ryan before he sees him and Dan round the corner. Brad has managed to straighten his pants, but his shirt is still rumbled, his hair still in disarray. 

"Hank?" Ryan asks, hand gripping his bag tightly. His eyes finally land on Brad. "Brad?" Dan is standing at his side, hand gripping his own bag as he eyes his two teammates.

Dan nudges Ryan, before he whispers something to him. Ryan stifles his laughter, before he runs a hand through his hair. " _Hank … Brad_?"

Brad just shrugs, lips pressed into a thin line. 

"We were, um … we're going to grab some lunch," Dan says lightly. "Care to join us?"

"I think -" Brad starts, rubbing his forehead. "I think I'll pass." He runs his hands through his hair to straighten it, and smoothes out his shirt. 

"I have to head down to Tribeca. Sean asked me to check up on a few things at the restaurant." 

Dan and Ryan shrug. "See you guys tomorrow."

Hank's reply is calm, and professional. He looks over to Brad. "Therese is away," he says as way of an answer to Brad's earlier proposition.

"I'll text you when I'm there," Brad replies.


End file.
